


Broken Soul

by Talonpoppy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hopefully I won't regret this. . ., Set in Junkinstien's revenge world, Will add the characters as they appear in the story, probably will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-02-09 19:04:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talonpoppy/pseuds/Talonpoppy
Summary: When you find yourself in the mist, a soul divide will persist. One of light, tortured and bruised, hiding and running from the darkness that pursues. A war to come which side do you take, I follow but one, the broken light's soft blade.





	1. A bird's flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come a shadow in the night, a tortured barer of the light.

Air squeezes tightly, into my lungs, each hoarse breath a racking shock as the night’s air runs down my throat, dragging like barbed wire. 

_“One. . . two . . .one. . .two” ___

__I scream the tempo into my mind,keeping it steady. Something had to be stable, my sore legs weren’t, my blistered and battered feet are anything but, and oh my heart; I could feel it pounding in my chest, speaking all the words that I try desperately to drown out._ _

___“One . . .two. . .one. . .t-” _____

____My mind falters almost as fast as my legs. The world spins as my feet hook painfully on the hidden root. The tempo is lost, the thoughts return._ _ _ _

_____“She won’t let you go. You stupid, stupid girl. She won’t kill you, but she knows how to make you pay.” _____ _ _

______I grasp desperately at the tree whose root had caused me to falter, I feel my skin tear on it’s rough surface, but pain? This pain? It was nothing, compared to her._ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Find the tempo, run, you’ll survive, you’ll get away, you’ll-” _____ _ _ _ _

________“Return to your home child.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It’s over._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He’s found me._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I can’t bring myself to face him, I knew every part of him. Even before she twisted him into the being he has become. She’d forced me to watch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A thunderous boom disrupts the night’s calm. My eyes sting as they blur into an obscure painting of the dulled greens and browns that surrounds me._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Tears force their way down my cheeks in an effort to relive the tormented screams my leg offers to my mind. He’s still a fair distance, I reason deliriously, I can still try._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Don’t make this harder on yourself child. She wants you alive.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I hear a sharp clunk of metal and close my eyes as the man snaps the gun’s barrel back into place. “She’ll heal what’s broken. I won’t have you struggling.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It’s over. I close my eyes listening to the quick flutter of my heart. One two three. One two three. One._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________**_Bang! _ ****__**__ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! If you have any questions, comments, critques, or suggestions don't be afraid to leave a comment down below!


	2. The wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She watches in shadows as a scene unfolds, leaves touch her skin, whispering words too far to uphold.

She’s there, a woman, white skin, hair pale as the light of the full moon. Her body tucked precariously in the fuselage of the forest, a thin red liquid bubbles hesitantly from small scraps across her flesh, a calm stream compared to the river that drains from a large collection of holes on the right thigh. The liquid rolls down in uncontrolled lines, watering the earth below her.

He’s there, above her, his tattered attire sweeping gracelessly over the woman’s unconscious body as he crouches next to her. If emotion came to him, the cursed pumpkin that hides his face, expresses nothing but the mocking smile carved long ago.

Why now? It’s been almost a decade yes? Why try again after so long to escape the mistresses holds? The Reaper shakes his head against such trivial thoughts, her reasons should be none of his concern. And yet, there they persist, the ideas like hollow calls, annoying they are, yet he found it hard to silence them without his master’s presence.

A low rumble catches the Reaper’s ear pulling him away from his observation of the downed woman. A wolf, he knew the sound well, their cries over his master’s less successful experiments were a thing of numb notoriety. Her blood must’ve drawn the filthy mangral thinking they could get an easy meal, he thinks in sour annoyance.

Another soul to reap. 

He gracefully pulls away from the ghostly woman. His eyes already sweeping the dulled moonwashed shadows.

A hoarse sound chokes into the air as the man attempts to speak, but cuts short as a gunt replaces the hoarse sound. Caught off guard from a large vaguely human hand slapping him away from the woman’s body, the Reaper’s form melts into a smoky cloud separating like a black fog just before his body could make contact with the misshapen trees that surround him.

Well, that’s not exactly a wolf.

He concludes dryly as a ragged creature straightens it’s hunched form, it’s muzzle scrunches as another growl rumbles from it throat. 

This wasn’t something he needed, and she wouldn’t want him more delayed.

A dark vapor fills the air as the Reaper’s mocking smile opens slightly, deep vacant words rumble through the crisp night breeze.

“An annoyance.” 

The being attempts to bring forth his gun once more, but the creature lurches forward it’s jaw grasping the Reaper’s arm, teeth tearing into his rotting flesh. With a single snarl of breathe it detaches the limb, tearing it from the cursed man as if it were nothing more than tissue paper.

But the Reaper felt no pain, his mind focused only on one thing, searching, easily spotting the opening as it appears, there is no hesitation in his movements. Lugging the rifle in his sol hand, he brings it to the creature’s chest and pulls. 

The cool metal explodes in a deafening roar as thunder is called once more to the forest. The creature flies back, the limb dropping from it’s jaws as it’s body rolls through the unforgiving foliage.

Now for the girl. . .

The Reaper falters, his attention finally called towards his missing limb. He watches numbly as a dark liquid oozes into an uncontrolled waterfall of shadows. His strength ebbing he turns to his prey. The girl is light, he reasons quietly, but was his strength enough?

_“Return to me”_

Her voice floods his thoughts. The cool silk of her magic already pulling him away from his target. 

But the girl . . .

The Reaper tries to push against his master’s string, he could still finish the task he could-

A low rumble fills his ears again. The wolf was already limping from the place it had fallen, it’s eyes full of fury, as it clings a paw to the wound he'd inflicted. Already soft raw patches of skin had begun to cover the injury lessening it's bleeding and fulling it's rage. A stark contrast to the reaper’s leaking flesh.

_“Return to me”_

The voice calls again, her pull leaving little room for any argument.

The battle is lost, the reaper returns the wolf’s growl as the bitter taste of defeat settles on his tongue. 

The growl rising to a roar as the man rushes towards the beast. Another defeat, another disappointment to add to the night. The beast readies itself for the Reaper’s attack, stretching its muzzle to reach him, jaws tense to snatch. But he falls inches away from the being’s outreached muzzle. His body crashes to the ground dissipating into smoke as he returns to his master.

He had failed her, and though she calls for him, she would not soon forget his defeat.

\- - - -

The wolf watches the shadows, it’s hand already moving away from the small dots that had aled it for what seemed to be the length of a lifetime. The bullets, while not made of silver, still caused enough pain for annoyance, but not a thing to scar.

Slowly it limps to the being that’s scent it had been seeking, but from what it had seen, the wolf had a hesitant ponder of if this was truly the one they’d been tasked to seek.  
She looked like her. The woman that so many whispered of, a pale being with soft moon bleached hair, who possessed a fair face, that could coil into a grin that matched the darkness in her soul. 

A snarl reaches the wolf’s lips, why did doubts plague them?

Why did such. . .

The beast blinks it’s breath coming in rugged clouds against the frigid night air, a strange chill passes over them. Something felt . . . wrong. . .

Looking down at the woman, the creature notices the faint rise and fall of the female’s chest. The blood that had called them here now glitters under the moon’s watchful eye.  
She’s dying. . . 

The thought hits the wolf hard as they become quickly aware of the gaunt form that lies in the broken forest floor and the musty scent of death lingering in the air around them; one that that thing had obscured. Could this possibly. . .be. . .something other than the person they seeked? The idea comes to the beast once more as the night’s cool autumn breathe rushes against their fur. 

They needed to know. 

And they knew, as they stroked the woman’s face, digging their claws deep into her flesh, there was only one way to find answers when so far from home.


	3. In places unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the darkness she is pulled, two new faces take form. Are they friend or foe?

Pain wakes me long before the string of blurry conversation strokes my ears. I feel the gentle sensation of water lap the top of my chest, it’s cool nonexistent hands holds my body in a gentle embrace, making me feel light, almost detached, were it not for the stiff pain that claws me down to earth, I may have let the cool waters lul me back into the dark.

“I’ve cauterized the wounds, but honestly, Lena, The Witch of the Wilds? She hasn’t possessed you has she?” 

That isn’t her voice. But if not her, then who? 

“Brigette you know I ain’t possessed luv. And I don’t think this is the witch, the Reaper attacked her.” 

A cluttering of metal can be heard as a disgruntled growl sounds from the voice dubbed “Brigitte”. “Thing probably finally lost it, gods know what she did to that soul!” A brief silence is passed between the two before a sigh comes from Brigitte.

“Don’t look at me like that Lena. I do this as a friend, but. . “

The ginger touch of fingers to my flesh burns life into my muscles which jerk as violently as the torn strands would allow. The dull sound of water sloshing along with my movements gathers vaguely in my ears as I sense the hand draw quickly away.

_It’s not her._

The words resonate through my bones almost as much as the feverish strain that crackles throughout my body. 

She’d grab me. She’d play with my misery. She’d want to know how to make it worse, before she’d even try to make it better.

Taking a shaky breath as my body goes rigid in an attempt to sooth the pulsing agony that wishes to take hold of me. 

_Then who?_

Pressing my mind through the pain, I work to open my eyes. The daunting soar presence of a swollen cheek and deep wounds makes itself known through the sharp bee like pain and rejection of the opening of my left eye, but the right gives to a tired squint.

“I heard a change in her breathing.” 

Shapes blur into solid forms as the image of a small lean looking woman peers at me. Her eyes are warm, friendly, something I’d seen before, something that I'd learned could fade fast.

“Got a threshold for pain.” A flash of long brown hair waves in my peripherals as the other woman, Brigitte, moves around. Nothing focuses, allowing only the brief idea of her pale skin and dark smudged attire. “Seen men cry like babes with wounds like that. All the more reason to hold worry.” 

The woman, Lena, sighs, her rustic amber eyes peering into mine, before she turns back to the unseen companion. Her mouth stays open for a long moment as her eyes scan something unseen to me. “Doesn’t have her scent either, it’s similar,but there’s something off bout it.” She states in a calm, almost mumbled tone. 

Who are they? What do they intend to do? The thoughts passes blurrily through my mind, as a deep weight of fatigue squeezes my chest.

Brigitte’s footsteps sound closer as they scrap over stone, however their voice sounded distant, even though I could see the cuff of their pants. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Warm callused hands press gently against my skin as I’m lifted from the water. I hear a soft breathless moan resonant pitifully from my chest. 

_“The claw marks to the face, wasn’t done by the Reaper Lena. . .” Is all I hear before my head falls back into a numbing darkness._


	4. A dragon's touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the darkness she does wake wounds dressed, but but body in a broken state.

Reality comes to me again in a slow nagging manner. I feel my chest hesitantly rise and fall in a stuttered count of 4. The sensation of a soft light substance presses sternly against my burning flesh. I was no longer submerged, someone carried me away. The thought picks at my mind, but the stiff smoldering sensation that nicks at my skin distracts me from such ideas, replaced with the simple yearning for relief.

But I’m still alive. Still breathing. For however long that may be, I’m unsure.

I open my eyes slowly, struggling to process anything more than the simple agony of my wounds and an almost drowning sensation of fatigue.

_Where am I. Is she here?_

No answer comes as I wait, listening to the quick flutter of my heart, as my eyes adjust to the grays of the room’s moonwashed interior. 

Lena, if I recall her name correctly, is sitting slumped slightly in a chair leaned against the wall. Her head tilted down as her chest rises rhythmically in 3’s to her unconscious state. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2,3. An even waltz.

But there is another presence here. It’s shifting movements makes Lena tilt her head up slightly, only to fall again. She must be familiar to these footsteps, I muse as the soft clatter of an armored foot pace gently around the room. 

Whoever is walking must be light, the shifting metal clinks smoothly as they pad towards my left side, the mellow one two of their steps remind me of a rabbit’s skittish bounce. 

No words are spoken as I hear the stranger’s breathe above me. I have little idea of who they are, aside from the noise they had made when approaching, and I am no fool to even attempt to move myself. Even through my exhaustion, I can feel the ache in my body, the burning numbness that pulses across my face and rolls shakily down to my chest.

_“Gravmh.”_

A strange sound echos softly as a new weight presses suddenly on my chest. My breathe skips in agony as this new pressure uncoils itself and slides quickly across my ribs. Two dark crimson eyes peer into the only eye I could keep open.

_“Mmmrph”_

The being calls as it leans closer, it’s tongue dragging gently across my cheek. A thin whistle comes from the stranger and the small beast retreats to their master's arm.

“I know you’re awake. Can you speak?”

Their voice is youthful, but tinged with authority. I'd heard tones like these before, often the most aggressively resilient to the horrors she imposed. 

I lead the silence, working my jaw gently, the dulled call of pain stitching a stiff resistance to the tortured sound that resonates from my chest.

“Ja.”

The voice I lend is pale in comparison, rugged, broken, a pitiful reminder of at who’s mercy I faced. Should this stranger be a foe, it’d be but a simple task to be rid of me. 

“Komm, um ihren Schatten zu töten, Ritter?” 

The words are the same cracked truth. I was but her shadow, the pale reflection, to a being whose name came in nightmares and tales of the dark, mercy was a thing I could only but dream of, whatever this stranger of arms chose to do, would I all be but deserving?

The soft grumblings of the creature picks through the air like the song of an early spring sparrow. It’s master’s answer, coming in small staccato clicks of their armor.

“You have a similar tongue to that of the castle’s lord.” 

The knight notes, “A face like that of a ghost who haunts the town’s waking gossip, even though such a person should have been felled by the wanderers.” 

The stranger was speaking mostly to herself, the inquires of a wandering mind weren’t foreign to me, and this strangers nature of pondering towards the unknown made my heart stutter. Curiosity could lead the most well meaning towards a dark path.

“A shadow, to the witch of the wilds?”

I could hear the smirk in her words, an almost smug realization. 

“For a shadow, you need to have a caster. So the witch still breathes.” 

“And yet, Lena trusts you. The Reaper almost killed you. And even Deathwing finds it hard to condemn you.”

“Ich weiß, dass meine Worte dir nichts bedeuten-” 

“You’re right. I have no reason to trust your words, but” A small hesitation holds in the youthful voice, as if uncertain to what words should be said, “but, that is not my duty to take care of. I hope you’re ready for trial for your actions, witch, the lord has called for you to see him in the morning.” 

Her words are hollow, cold as if the same creature I had been mistake for uttered them in this youthful warrior’s stead. Hatred, spoken by one who feared nothing to bring forth the change that they desired. 

Yet, even as the warrior of a rabbit’s dance padded away I felt no emotions pull at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again we find that I still rely on google translate '^'; I apologize in advance to those who speak the native tongue that I've probably butchered. I hope that the sections in other lanauges do make sense, I just felt that the scenes would have something more like this. 
> 
> As always, thanks for the read, and if you have any questions concerns, critiques, suggestions, etc. Don't be afraid to leave a comment below!


	5. The wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She watches from the wood's shadow. The darkness rises, deep breath, slow heart, the wilds knows.

She's there, sitting perched on the remnants of an old oak tree. Her pale blonde hair reflects from the moon's wandering gaze. Her eyes are a cold distant glare, as if she was not one with herself, caught gazing into a reality only she could see.

_“You have failed me many times tonight. Reaper.”_

Her gaze narrows, the deep velvet of her eyes hardening on a shape slunk in the shadows. A golden bond of light snakes around it's form, the magic biting and pulling the twisted creature back together.

Why had they run? She ponders as she moves away from the stump, stalking through the secluded meadow. They'd been broken,complacent, for so long, what could offer a new shade of courage to that pitiful creature?

The woman pulls on her old leather gloves, rubbing her hands on the worn runes and sigils. 

This had been an ill night; her faith in the mad doctor and the gathering of foreign souls had left her weak. It had shown her arrogance and pride in the assistance of creating a corrupt life; one that had not been tested and proved to be another segment towards her defeat.

Now a key subject was gone, a specimen that had a resilience no other had offered to her work. 

“You scorn a shell of a man, one who suffers more than you this night. Nothing comes without risk, failure is a simple variable that can be used as a chance to better ourselves.”  
The voice of another surges from the dark, a charming drawl accenting the rhythmic sound of their speech.

“Do not lecture me, _apprentice_.” The woman hisses, drawing her attention toward the shape in the shadows. 

Her apprentice straightens under the glare, her tall thin form easily towering over her master. Eyes of a bruised dawn meet the mismatched gleem of a stormy sea and setting sun. Each side daring the other to go on.

“I assume you had no time to assist my pet?”

The apprentice offers a patient smile, their eyes still holding their master’s glare.

They enjoyed teasing her, when she'd let them, but even they knew their master was not one to be crossed. A hand mangled by ambitions and their master’s spite was lesson enough to that.

“The wolf whom took your pet's arm? 

The woman ticks in annoyance as her gaze falls back to the Reaper’s sullen form.

“What of the subject? Does it still draw breath?”

The apprentice’s smile wavers, as her master’s cold eyes return. 

“I was unable to drain her life essance in time.”

The apprentice flinches as her master’s face curls into a devilish smile. A plotting one, that betrayed only a soft faction of this creatures true malice.

If the subject was still alive, had she not succumbed to her apprentice and lived beyond the wolf’s attack. If she still drew breath, it was all but plausible that that stroke of strength which lead it to run, which had restored what she’d thought she'd crushed within it; could become the song that told of her secrets.

Her old tricks would not work if this came to pass. She'd need new allies, forces to call upon to claim what had been taken from her this night.

“Let them draw drunk on their victory. Let them _cherish_ at the thought that I am dead, or feel the unease if they know I am not.”

The witch pulls herself to her full height just below her apprentice’s chin, her velvet eyes sparkle with unspoken plots and plans.

“While they grow weak from the unknown we must grow stronger, to make them loath the day, they thought they'd sent the _witch of the wilds_ to her grave.”


	6. Judgement of Forest and Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trial at the cusp of dawn, a jester's game, a falcon's song.

A rope is all I care to remember as two hands drag me forth, into a world obscured by a piece of cloth. Their footsteps are a controlled march, falling on 2’s and 4’s easily giving away their years of following a strict set of orders and routines. The only idea of the outside world is the mourning cries, which rattle from an old rooster; lamenting the night’s foolish end.

A hush has taken the streets as we march. It's soulless echo a reminder of each creature who still fears to leave their home; until the morning’s light can assure them that the night had been burned away. 

My injuries make my own footsteps come in a sluggish drag, slurring into each step as I’m continuously pulled forward with grim determination.  
Deft steps fall from dirt to cobblestones to wood, the only point to show that any progress was being made. There was logic to this, should I have had the urge to escape, I'd be lost to my mind and the uncertain maze they'd created.

But there is no more fire to me, my burst of courage had long since washed away. Leaving me with just a broken form and anxious mind.  
Slowly the two come to a halt, pausing as the creak of a wooden door shouts of our arrival.

I slump to my knees through one of the soldier’s forceful gesture, I have no time to ponder over my new bruises as the bag is tugged mercilessly from my head.  
Sleepy firelight floods my vision and saturates the room, leaving me to an agonized half squint as the colors slowly settle away from a blinding white.

My body calls out in numb protest, staggering each breath I pull in as mixture of wheezes and coughs rattle from my chest. Each inhale feeling as if I'd brought a unholy flame to my lungs, but I was helpless to stop as my body squeezes in each breath to appease the ache in my side.

7 figures stand before me, their blurry shapes gradually solidifying as their voices slowly become more prevalent over my frantic breath. 

“The witch was vanquished in the battle between the wanderers, could we have underestimated the full scope of her plan?” A large creature speaks in a deep calming tone, it readjusted the small metal glasses perched on it's flat nose as it observes it's comrades.

“Witch always been a trickster, Winston, would surprise me none to if this was just another of her tricks.” 

Another speaker counters, their brightly colored bird like hood quivering as they wave their hands.

“I agree with Ganymede, if this is a trick of the witch, when will it spring?”

My head twitches to the sound of the voice of the rabbit’s dance. She is taller than I'd imagined, bright (green?) eyes reflecting the luscious greens of the forest, peer from red and black plated armor. Her only glance towards me is a cold judging glare.

The court ponders more deeply, but I care little to listen. They saw me as one who I was not, they saw me as her. The Witch of The Wilds. The cruel mistress of magic that made the unruly lands that the castle had yet to tame her home. 

The monster of stories. The same woman who'd only in weeks prior, laid an unholy force of a rotting construct, and mad doctor upon this settlement. 

Whatever this council wished for me, it was far more merciful than what She would do if she found me.

A deep rumble comes from the man in the center of the room. The sound rattles me from my thoughts as he holds his hand in a calm gesture of silence that hushes not only my mind, but the quiet debates that chirped like the chatter of a predawn forest.

“I'm sure you can hear that my court has many tongues wanderer. You seem to understand English, might you be able to speak it so as for my court to hear your story without translation?”

Another cough rattles from my chest, reigniting a fear, that swirls through me like the thrashing of a boat drawn too far out to sea and into the depths of a yawning storm’s jaws. 

“Ja- er, alright.”

She was also prolific in several languages, be it mortal or from a place beyond. Could the king wish for me to show yet another of her traits? Or was he helping me pass through any bias that a translator may betray to their ambassador?

“Okay, now let's get a name for the court records.”

A name? Yet another thing I had never possessed. She had no need to name a subject, I had no will to think past surviving to the days end.

“I. . .have no name sir. . .”

“Lord Reinhardt, she has a name. The Witch of The Wilds!” The lord of the castle strokes his beard looking at the knight of the rabbit's dance thoughtfully.

“Surely a witch has a name Ser.Song.”

“I . . .am not the woman you speak of.”

“Don't speak to this castle's lord with such lies!”

I shrink, pressing my hand into my chest, easing the anxiety with my wound's distracting shrieks. Why had those words escaped my lips? No one here cared of my truth, only that which would find me burning at a pire.

“Ser.Song. Accusations will do nothing for the progression of this trial.” 

The other knight who'd accompanied Ser.Song regards her calmly. Or at least I assume so, they wear ancient armor that glows under the firelight. The worn runes of protection, and bird shaped details cover any expression that much of the body could convey.

“Pharah of the Desert Sky, I appreciate your council, but I feel that Ser.Song speaks what is in the minds of many on this court today.”

There is an uncomfortable shift in the gathered members as if to confirm the lord's words. Pharah tilts their armored head in contemplation.

“Then may I ask to question this woman as an unbiased 3rd party my lord? If no other wishes to speak and would rather keep to the spirit of this fool's trial?”

The lord looks to his council, and back to the knight. “You may ask questions, but the court will be permitted to debate and further pursue any questions asked.”

“Within fair reason my lord? While I understand that what she is to be accused of is dire, but must we not forget that she still suffers from wounds that any other would be allowed a time for recovery.”

“Within _reason?_ The Witch of The Wilds slaughtered how many? She held no reason, no _mercy-_ ”

“Hana.”

The old lord rests his hand upon the fuming knight's shoulder. He leans down and whispers into the knight's ear. The woman frowns, but holds her tongue as she motions for Pharah to continue.

The falcon helmet knight nods to the castle's lord. “You said that you have no name?”

I nod, keeping my head down. This knight was far too close, far too calm. Phantom hands squeeze the air from my lungs, the faint scent of decay presses on my tongue. My stomach heaves, but there is nothing to retch.

Could this be one of her shadows? A projection that fooled? A construct to take me back to her?

_“One. Two.”_

I blink away tears that betray me, the calming low tone of counting almost sings from the woman's lips. How could she?

“Three. . .Four. . .”

I finish the rhythmic progression in a choked whisper. 

“What is your name?”

The knight has pulled away now, but the same 4/4 is kept in time with her pacing footsteps.

“I. . I. . .”

My shoulders sag, they wouldn't believe me. But why was I even worried over such matters? They've already condemned me in their minds. It would do them better to just kill me off in silence, with no man nor woman wiser of the fact that I drew breathe.

But, even in all the mockery and foolish show that this trial is; this knight seemed to be the only one seeking any truth.

“Where were you on the night of the autumn harvest?”

“The wilds.”

“Do you recall where in the wilds?” Ganymede is staring at me now, the brightly painted colors of his hood reflect like a crafts project in the torches firelight.

“I wouldn't know. I . . .”

My voice catches as I succumb to a fit of coughs. Pharah shakes her head to the council member, who doesn't press or question further.

“How did you come to our care with such injuries?”

“The Reaper and a wolf of the wilds attacked her Ser.Pharah.”

Brigitte's voice rises from behind the lord's chair. I forget myself and rise my head to search for the young woman. I find instead the looming shape of Pharah of the Desert Sky, a hidden smile tucked into her own curious glance towards the lord's young squire.

“And what of the other injuries Page Lindholm? It is not just bullet holes and claws that I see this day.”

“I can't say.” Brigitte answers honestly, “the small group of heroes who saved us carry no weapons that match some of the older wounds. But if she came from the wilds, who knows what else could've found her?”

Pharah nods slightly, “Ganymede, Lady Oladele as ones who live in the wilds yourselves, may I ask for your insight upon this?”

Ganymede strokes his go-t as the other, one of the few of the court who I'd yet to see speak leans to look at the knight closely. 

She's moderate height with skin as dark as the night's sky, in the chamber's light. Her face is hardened but not unkind, and there's the smallest glint of humor shining in her eyes.  
“The witch is many things.” Lady Oladele begins. “She is prideful, outspoken, and vengeful. She has caused my people much pain. However I've only seen great pain and fear from this child since she's entered the court.”

“ ‘magine anyone in her spot would be afraid Lady Oladele”

The woman offers the man a tight smile, “her fear is not of us Ganymede.”

“Just playing the devil's fiddle.”

The man leans forward his eyes settling on the strange beast he'd communed with earlier, “Winston. Do you recall our debate a few weeks ago?”

The creature nods, “You mean of the recollection of the wanderers battle of the witch?”

“Yes yes. If I recall you brought up an interesting point. The Witch of the Wilds you theorized to have a connection to Fae magic of some sorts. Much like Ser.Song and myself, the magic is as much apart of us as is our blood.”

“Loose too much of it and you'll die.”

“Ganymede I fail to see where your going with this.”

Winston huffs at the smaller man who seems to be chattering like an excited song bird. 

“Her magic acted subconsciously. She'd heal without a second thought, so”

“Why are her injuries improving at an average rate?”

The two's words blur over my head, coming in and out as my mind lulls drunkenly. Pharah is still pacing in the familiar beat, and Ser.Song seems to be raising her voice above the two's excited chatter.

“She could be suppressing it.” Hana argues, “actively working to deceive us by parlour tricks!”

“Hana. You know as I that certain magics can't be blocked or suppressed. It would be like holding your breath, soon enough you'll pass out and begin once more.”

“Even in a weakened state the witch was able to heal her scrapes and bruises so as they would not hinder in battle.”

“Then what if she were to have lost her magic in battle?”

“She would rather die than give up her powers Ser.Song” Lady Oladele addresses the young knight softly, “and you'd known of one who lost their magic and lived. A shell is a kind word to call them.” 

Pharah coughs to grab the court's attention, “Shall we continue? She does not look as if she'll last much longer.”

“Go on, Knight of Sky.”

The knight nods stiffly, “Do you have any relation to aforementioned Witch of the Wilds?”

My heart throbs me away from the dizzy ride of fatigue I'd been trapped in. I could feel the courts expecting gazes. Words of affirmation. Words of truth, that I was a creation of her ambitions. Rather than a victim of it.

My mouth is dry, and my lips stick as I speak, “Ja.”

Silence takes the courtroom, only the rasp of my breathe echoed around the walls. Even Pharah had stopped her pace.

“What would those be?”

I've condemned myself to death, “I was a mistake. Created in an attempt of a doppelganger who she could focus her magic through and have her operate from a distance.”  
“How did she fail?” Pharah presses as my voice cracks and fails. A heavy weight presses on my chest, a force that makes me doubt if I will be able to finish my tale.

“I can't. . . I can't. . .channel magic. I I I resist it. She couldn't reabsorb me because of this.” 

There's a soft tapping on metal that greets my ears. It takes me a second to realize that it was the knight trying once more to calm me. My body shakes like a falling leaf, my voice stuttering as I try to find the right words. 

“She used you?”

Pharah's voice is distant now, an echo against my heart's breakneck pace.

“Yes.”

I don't even know if my words reached my lips, everything was consumed by the press of my heart's drum. Consuming everything, even the light.

 

 _Fareeha Amari_ , Pharah of the Desert Sky. A knight from a land far in distance, but not in pain. She stares at the crumpled shadow of The Witch of the Wilds. The court had gone mad with questions and theories, but more grimly, she could hear the debate of this woman's fate.  
It was saddening to know that even here justice was a poor gamble of if you could prove yourself innocent, even though those had called you to stand trial had little but a loose theory to go upon.

But that was beside her, she had at least given this one time. Something the court may have not even debated upon if not for her interference.  
The Fae had been right, the Witch's unwilling creation still responded to simple beats. Small rhythms that would calm her, help her count the seconds for pain to pass.  
It was a shame she could not share such knowledge with the court. Fareeha knew all too well of their distrust in the magic, and the Fae, while some deserving, were just a collective that they could place their fears and doubts upon. 

Ganymede and Winston were only allowed upon the court out of courtesy, and even the small ways of the Oladele clan's empathetic bonds caused a hesitation in the people of Adlersbrunn. 

Fareeha was all too certain that if the town's people knew that even the king's champion, Ser. Hana Song is a Dragon Heart, even she would not be unsubjected to the deep rooted distrust.

_“You knew of her.”_

The knight looks up, to be met by the forest green eyes of Emily Oxton. 

“I've never met her before.”

Fareeha words carefully as she stands next to Ser.Oxton's wife. Emily chuckles, a bright sound admits the madness of the court.

“But you knew of her? Unless rhythmic pacing and taping are a nervous gesture of yours.”

“I offer my apology I meant not to be coy Lady Oxton.”

The woman tilts and eyebrow up to the knight, a signal to continue. The knight lowers their head, reading deeply into the other’s unwavering gaze.

“I knew of her, yes. A Fae once spoke of a woman who's was the Witch's shadow, the sad light that watched over those whom the Witch used to further her own quest of power.”

“And how do you know this is her? Not a doppelganger under the Witch's control?

“The fae had been captured by the Witch. It was there that he met the shadow, who cared for his wounds even though she herself could barely stand. In his thanks he taught her a chant of counting that was meant to help heal her wounds.”

“But she can't channel magic.”

“Hence why the chant never worked, but it calmed her.”

Emily nods in understanding, “why do you so blindly trust that this is not a trick?”

Fareeha shrugs. Her gaze falling once more upon the accused's gaunt form. The Lord's squire had left her post and was caring for the unconscious woman. The court had paid no mind, a few of the members openly chastising the squire, telling her to leave the woman be.  
“Justice is blind, but there is no justice without _mercy_. How can we call ourselves better than this Witch if we do not listen to the stories of those we wish to throw to the pire? Yes, I knew of a Fae's tale, but who's to say he hadn't lied to me?”

“This woman was attacked by the Witch's most loyal servant, and mauled by a wolf of the woods. I've walked those woods, even the most mad creature had come to fear the witch.”

“But-”

The stop as the court settles down as the castle lord raises his hand again to silence the room.

“Brigitte, what do you think of this?”

The old king looks to his squire who returns his gaze with a thoughtful expression.

“Well there's a lot to think about. Lena bares the mark of Fenrir, her senses to magicks and fae are far keener than our own. Yet she was the one who brought her to me.” The young shieldmaiden looks between Lena, who had come to stand beside Emily, and Angela. A calculating observation passing between the silent beaten wanderer and the nervous brit who couldn't seem to keep still.

“We know the Witch is a necromancer my lord, and from my studies even those with such a curse as Fenrir’s mark still find no liking towards those who mingle with balance.”  
The lord of the castle rumbles for his squire to go on, “I say we let her stay, under the eye of Sir.Oxton. We have had enough blood spilled on the soil this year.”

“But my lord!” Hana tries to interject but is silenced once more by a simple wave of the old man’s hand.

“What good will it do our people if we kill one more under the hope that she is indeed the creature responsible of just a few weeks prior? If her tale is indeed true, the witch is alive and will come to attack us once more.” The old man slumps forward his large physic leaning as if the weight of the world weighed upon his dessission. “Our people don't need anymore false hopes if we are to rebuild. I trust it in you to be my eyes Hana. Be my blade if necessary. But to also place trust in me as I do you.”

The young knight shakes her head, biting back her frustration. This old fool would get them all killed. For that she was certain, but an old sense of respect also muted her words, the old king was wise and while stubborn, had barely lead her astray.

“I will watch by her side.”

The Knight of the Desert Sky walks forward, reigniting the other's frustrations. Fareeha lends the other a sharp smile already sensing their hostility.

“Ser.Song can't be up at all hours of the day. I will offer my services so that she be fit for a fight.”

Hana grumbles something attuned to an objection, but was overruled by the castle lord.

“We have a plan of sorts then. I trust it in you two to be just. We will await until this wanderer had healed from her wounds, until then I declare the meeting settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for getting this out so late. I've had these few chapters done for a while, just forgot to post them '^';; 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! As always comments are always appreciated!


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